Aldric Thornwood's Arc

Chapter 1 of 9

Aldric Thornwood sat on a stump at the edge of Waspwood and admitted he could not remember the way. Forty years ago he had walked this path with his wife, and he had sworn on her grave to return one day and bless the oldest tree in the region. Now his legs shook after half a mile. His red robe hung damp with sweat. The gnarled cane she had carved him over three winters trembled in his fist. He had three days of food and less than that in strength, and the trees ahead all looked the same. Ephrat crouched near him, tightening the strap on his boot. The boy had followed from the village without asking. He was not kin by blood, only the neighbor's grandson, but he had stood at the road that morning with his blue hair pushed back under his red headband and refused to turn around. Aldric had scolded him twice. Ephrat had not answered either time. "I can't find it," Aldric said. "The path forks somewhere past the stream. I don't remember which side." Ephrat stood. "Then I'll ask." "Ask who." "The toad by the stream. Grandfather said he knows the wood." Aldric almost laughed. Then he saw the boy meant it, and he was too tired to argue. He waved him on. Ephrat found the old frog wizard sitting on a flat stone at the water's edge, wrapped in an orange robe, his gray beard trailing past his knee. The toad blinked slowly and did not seem surprised to be spoken to. "My grandfather needs the oldest tree," Ephrat said. "Before his time runs out." The toad folded his small green hands. "The wood does not give its heart to any who walk in. You must ask the lady first." "What lady." "The hooded one at the shrine, past the black stones. Bring her a fairyvander bloom. Place it on her offering table. She will show you the path." "A flower." "One bloom. No less. She counts." Ephrat nodded once and went back. He repeated the instructions flat, the way the toad had said them. Aldric listened with his cane braced across his knees. "A fairyvander," Aldric said. "They grow near graves. There's a cemetery on the north edge of the wood. Weathered stones, iron fence. I passed it with her, once." He stopped. He did not say whose grave. "I'll go," Ephrat said. "You'll go alone?" "You can't walk it. I can." Aldric looked at the boy's small shoulders and the fading light between the trees. He thought of his grandson at home, certain the road would kill him. He thought of the oath. He pulled a folded cloth from his robe and pressed it into Ephrat's hand. "Wrap the stem in this. Don't crush the petals." Ephrat took it and started north toward the cemetery. Aldric stayed on the stump, counting the light he had left.